Vegas Baby
by sunflwr
Summary: She used to be a good person. Then she got shot. And not just shot but shot in the head. And upon surviving being shot in the head, she came to the revelation that being a good person was not only genuinely overrated but freaking stupid as well. A story of the Courier & the King.
1. Freeside Blues

She used to be a good person.

She was dedicated to her job, mindful of her deadlines, and overall a decent employee. She mostly kept to herself and laid low. She stuck to her predictable roads and found satisfaction in the familiarity of a routine and life of a courier.

Then she got shot. And not just shot but shot in the _**head**_. As in almost died.

And upon surviving being shot in the head, she came to the revelation that being a good person was not only genuinely overrated but fucking stupid as well. Being a good person didn't get you anything but a bullet in the head. And she has no intention of repeating that experience ever again.

So with those intentions in mind, she decided she's going to find the prick that shot her in the head and repay the favor in kind.

That's what brought her to this place.

Fucking Freeside.

She's stuck outside the Strip and revenge free until she can come up with 2,000 caps. Where the hell is she going to find that many caps in this freaking piece of shit town?

Freeside. A place so magical that kids chase giant fucking rats with baseball bats and tear the meat right off their bodies and eat it fucking _**raw**_. The same kids smile at her with bloody teeth and lips and thank her for shooting the rat with bits of innards in their teeth. Fucking gross.

She can handle the Mojave. She knows the Mojave. What she doesn't know is how fucking giant rats get that big in the first place.

She _**hates**_ Freeside.

She hates the pretentious body guards who posture on about how unsafe the streets are. The scariest thing she's seen so far are the giant fucking rats and they pose more of a threat than those strung out thugs who try to beat her with golf clubs and pool cues. When the bodyguards offer her their services for 100 caps she can't help but snort. She has a freaking submachine gun for fuck's sake. It's not like it's rocket science. In the gamble between golf club and submachine gun, she'll take her odds any day of the week.

She hates the drunks that loiter and beg for caps. She hates it even more when they accuse her of poking them when she's standing ten fucking feet away from them.

She hates the child stripper that stands in the intersection and shimmies and shakes and expounds the many "services" available at the Atomic Wrangler. She hates it even more when she enters the Wrangler and gets roped into finding sex slaves for their depraved clientele.

She likes the Van Graffs even less. For people that sell bad ass weapons they certainly have a lot of insecurities and could sure as hell use a lesson in courtesies. Who the hell needs that many body guards for one shit hole shop? You have plasma guns and grenades!

Working for these people gives her the skeevies and is barely worth the caps. After all her work she's no closer to the Strip. She's no closer to getting bloody satisfaction by shooting a beautiful round bullet into the brain of one Benny at the Tops.

She has to talk to "the King." Pssh, "the King." What the hell does this guy think he's king of? Freeside? Ha, he can have it. What a joke.

She walks up to their weird building mentioning something about "Impersonation." She doesn't understand what the hell that sign means but she doesn't much care either. All she knows is that she can appreciate the way the members of the Kings are mostly male. Not only that, but a type of delicious male with _**style**_. And it's definitely a style she can get behind.

Secretly she wants their jackets. The smooth black leather is the perfect complement to their slicked back dew. It's enough of a statement to stylishly tell people not to fuck with you.

She similarly tries to exude that message with her leather armor, but it's still armor. And armor is definitely not as bad ass as a cropped leather jacket. Sure, armor can save your ass in a fight and it's super practical. But she's not super practical anymore. Being practical and decent is what got her a hole in the head.

So she's decided that before she's even met "the King," that she digs his message.

What she doesn't dig is being charged to speak with him.


	2. All Shook Up

Before she was shot in the head, she knew a lot of things.

After she was shot in the head, she has trouble remembering everything.

She knows that she knows things about herself. She just can't remember them.

Like her name. How the hell doesn't she even remember her name? When she woke up in Doc Mitchell's house and he asked her that simple question, she couldn't even find the word for her own name. They had to root through her pockets for clues. Finally, she settled on Courier, the only clue they found; not much of name though. Screw it, her name's not important.

The only thing she knows about herself is what she wants to do. And what she wants to do, more than anything in the world, is put a bullet square in the brain of that asshole, Benny.

Revenge on Benny. Plain and simple.

She hasn't put much thought beyond that.

She wasn't sure she needed to.

But now, after meeting the King, she realizes that shit just got complicated.

So far on her adventures, she's managed to avoid making any strong allegiances with people. What she's doing right now is only about her and Benny. There are only two factors in this equation and she has no intention of muddying it up with other variables.

At least she hadn't had any intention.

Performing favors for the King was both annoying and satisfying to her. Annoying because his favors are the only thing standing between her and the Tops Casino and sweet bloody revenge. Satisfying because she acquired heaps of caps and even got to generate a little fame in Freeside.

Running with a gang gives you a little more freedom than traveling solo. But more than that, running with the Kings got you respect from the locals.

When she first got to Freeside she was hassled by everyone; not that she couldn't handle it. Hello, submachine gun. But now that she has their respect, she finds that it's actually quite a pleasant feeling. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she cares about the Freesiders. But at least she has to pull her gun out less.

All around she is impressed by the King and his little operation. He is a stand-up guy and not only that, he does things with class.

Begrudgingly, she admires his philosophy. The whole "every man is free to follow their own path" and "where every man is a king in his own right" ideas really jive with her. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the luxury to believe that. If she thought that way, she'd have to respect Benny's right to life. And frankly, she doesn't think anyone deserves to die more than that fucker.

Call her jaded, call her cynical. She doesn't care.

And yet, a part of her, perhaps the "old her" wants to believe in that desperately. She just has to squash that part down into the depths where it's desperate pleas and hopefulness can be ignored.

She doesn't need anyone and she only wants one thing. Easy peasey, right?


End file.
